How Dare You, Mental Illness
Mental illness. No one wants to talk about it. And why would you? It's scary and nebulous and real.
After my mother passed away, and a I had TON of psychotherapy, I realized I was mentally ill. I didn't even really know anything about mental illness, even though I'd been surrounded by it my whole life.
Upon my first visit, my shrink asked me, "Are you neurotic or psychotic?" I had no idea. That was my first homework from her. There was to be much much more homework, self-work to do at home - lifework, really. I had to learn what it was to live a mentally healthy life. I had to dig deep and study who I was and how I got there. I am still studying.
My Mom at our wedding, June 21, 2003. She was showing Early Alzheimer's signs, but none of us were familiar with them... she was beautiful and radiated love.
I find studying my life ironic when it came to the brain. The glowing, gorgeous mama I knew my whole life had her brain slowly eaten by physical gray matter that literally stole her present thoughts, memories, and body functionality. And while this was happening, my mental illness started to explode and put my life in ruins. But after as much internal searching and reading as I have done, I believe my mama also spent her life suffering from mental illness as a result of childhood trauma. So many complicated life layers I have been unweaving and reweaving to try and understand my life.
Our brain is not to be taken for granted or treated lightly. Talk about a weapon of mass self-destruction... or endless creation of good.
Complicated and shameful. I'm here to tell you that mental illness does not have to be unmanageable and definitely doesn't have to win. But many times it does.
I lost my biological father to suicide when I was pregnant with Ollie. I was 28. I'd lost him several times throughout my life due to his bi-polar battle, but no one ever talked about it with me. He'd just go away for years on end, then merrily show up to take me to a church service or dinner where he'd tell me about some new person or thing that was going to change his world. Then he'd drop me off back at home and be gone again. His name was Pete. I have referred to him for years as bio-dad, as my step-father adopted me when I was very young and he has been the kind, stable, and influential Father that cared for me and my mom until the end of her life.
Lola met bio-grandad once when she was 18 months old. We met for a breakfast in Houston with David, while we were visiting for my 10th high school reunion. Lola still has the purple stuffed rabbit and the two nursery rhyme board books he gave her. David and I have read them both countless times with all four kids. We aren't big "keep things forever" people, and I've almost given these items away many times. BUT those silly gifts were his way to tell ME he loved me even when he couldn't love me like I needed, muchless begin to know Lola, his first grand daughter. I'm thankful now I still have them. They'll definitely go into the "keepsake" box in the attic - for me, more than my babies, that was the last time I saw him.
I truly never thought I could write about any of this. I told my shrink a year ago that I was feeling the urge to write, but couldn't. Too much shame.
She said to me, "Don't you wish your mother and bio-dad could have written honestly about their lives and all that made them the people they became throughout their lifetime versus you having to put the puzzle pieces you could find together to guess and imagine their stories and how they impacted who YOU are today?"
I said, "Of course. But my children. I can't imagine my kids ever knowing all the awful stuff in my life."
To which she replied, "But they too will be adults one day putting puzzle pieces together and trying to understand themselves in order to be the best humans they can possible be in this lifetime."
It stuck with me. And here I am, but I did not get here alone. I got here through practicing with Valley Haggard and her Life In Ten Minutes non-fiction writing classes. A dear friend introduced me to Valley at a "home tour" session she had at her house. I didn't know what I was getting myself into, or else I probably wouldn't have gone. But man-oh-man am I glad I did.
I just finished my second 6-week session "In the Valley," as I call it. The Valley is beautiful. An oasis of compassion that encourages you to be daring, honest and real. "Go there," Valley will encourage you when you brush up with that monster in your head. She gives you the space to do it. And every time I "go there" - the monsters get less scary. The darkness begins to feel lighter and my heart opens a little more to loving myself. All of me. It's so much easier to forgive others and love outwardly than it is to forgive yourself and love inwardly. Talk about the true act of "mindfulness."
I went to see Sharon Salzberg at the UVA Contemplative Center this past March with three friends. What a gift to kick off 2018. I turn 40 in May and take no day for granted.
The one quote that has really stuck with me from Sharon was from one of her meditation teachers in India, Dipa Ma. Sharon told a story about how she was leaving India after her first visit there to return to America for a short visit before moving to India for the long-term. Dipa Ma said to Sharon, "No. You really understand suffering, that's why you should teach."
I believe I understand suffering, too.
I became the oldest woman on my mother's side at the age of 34. I lost 6 of the most close humans to me in 7 years, from the age of 28 to 35. I also lost myself AND began rebuilding myself in these years. My journey is far from over - thankfully.
Sharon sharing her life and suffering has also encouraged me to share mine, for no true joy can be felt without that of suffering.
I've been loving The Book of Joy: Lasting Happiness in a Changing World given to me by a dear friend who once sent me this meme on Instagram. She said upon reading it she understood me better. That made me smile. Still does.
The message above doesn't really align with the beginning and end / alpha and omega / suffering and joy message shared over and over again by Sharon Salzberg or the Dali Lama and Desmond Tutu in the Joy book, and yet it does in it's own weird way to me...Especially after the self recognition of so much personal suffering, I now choose joy - and mindful life.
While I'm very new at trying to understand the Buddhist four noble truths, they sure seem to be recurring messages that come with time when one is willing to look truthfully at this human life.
First Noble Truth: To live means to suffer
Second Noble Truth: The origin of suffering is attachment
Third Noble Truth: The cessation of suffering is attainable
Fourth Noble Truth: The path to the cessation of suffering
Suffering comes from the word Dukkha in Sanskrit. I have read "mental dysfunction" is closer to the original Sanskrit translation from Buddha.
Thus, I go back to where we started, Mental Illness. How dare you... warping our minds and messing with reality. I'll take your dare. And I'll double down on me, my life and my mental health. I'll not run from you any more. I am here to experience, do the good in front of me and love all my babies, husband, family and friends.... and light this life up!
Lotsa love,
Leah
